


lost: red scarf & gray blanket

by rosielibrary



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosielibrary/pseuds/rosielibrary
Summary: “Isn’t that sweet? I wonder who that stranger was,” a woman ponders aloud, fixing at her cat-shaped hairclips.“Yeah, I wonder,” you murmur, heart thudding in your chest.The flyer is torn from the board and stuffed in your pocket.(word of warning: this fic is from 2015 and unedited!)





	lost: red scarf & gray blanket

The cold bites into your skin and you pull at your scarf, covering your nose and mouth to protect you from the snow coming down in sheets. The parking lot of the grocery store looks ethereal with only the off-white glow of street-lamps to light your way home, your boots squelching in the puddles of white at your feet, but they stop when you hear a loud cough coming from an alleyway next door, a cough that came from the chest of someone hiding in the dark.

Your brain tells you to keep walking, but your feet take pity on the person you heard, so you carefully walk down the alleyway until you see a cardboard box lying on its side, a shuddering shadow lying inside it. A man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, was asleep in the box, his fingertips tinted blue and the snow gathering on his eyelashes and brows. You crouch down and go to touch him, but you’re hesitant, biting your lip in thought for a moment.

You’d never been the one to play the hero, but you knew you’d feel guilty if you were to leave this man alone in the alleyway. You don’t wake him up; instead, you take your scarf off and wind it around his hands, blowing warm air against them in their cocoon of red wool, and another idea strikes you.

Pulling your hood up over your head, you run (well, shuffle, avoiding slipping) to your car, finding the large, thick blanket you always had stuffed in the backseat, shaking the crumbs off of it and stuffing it down your coat to retain the warmth. You lock your car and go back to the man, taking the blanket and shrouding him in it, tucking in the loose ends and pulling his hood over his head.

He was handsome, you realize, taking a moment to scan over his face. Dark hair is brushed out the way of his chiseled features, slightly sunken in from malnourishment, but your gloved hand rests on his cheek for a moment, and he seems to settle, a sigh leaving his lips.

Your wallet is dug out of your bag next, and you find your stash of emergency money behind your driver’s license, lifting the blanket and stuffing it between his hands in your scarf. His fingers grasp it tightly and you’re startled— did he wake up?

You didn’t want to get caught pitying this guy, so you bolt. Your car is already out of the parking lot by the time you see any movement from the alleyway behind you.

— — —

Two weeks pass, and the man at the grocery store has disappeared. The snow falls heavier with each passing day and you wonder about him, but you don’t look for him.

What you don’t bargain on is him looking for you.

You see a messily written sign stapled to the bulletin board in the store among the “found dog” and “guitar lessons” flyers, and it has quite a few fans crowding around it. Intrigued, you wait until the people dissipate before sidling up to it, reading it with wide eyes as you figure out who it belongs to.

“FOUND: RED SCARF AND GRAY BLANKET

GIVEN TO HOMELESS MAN OUTSIDE SPARKY’S FROM A POLITE AND BEAUTIFUL STRANGER, HOMELESS MAN WANTS TO RETURN THEM WITH MUCH ~~GRADITUDE GRATITUTE~~ GRATITUDE.

MEET OUTSIDE SPARKY’S AT 11PM ON FRIDAY.”

“Isn’t that sweet? I wonder who that stranger was,” a woman ponders aloud, fixing at her cat-shaped hairclips.

“Yeah, I wonder,” you murmur, heart thudding in your chest.

The flyer is torn from the board and stuffed in your pocket.

— — —

It’s two minutes to eleven when you get back to the grocery store that night, nervously checking your watch every ten seconds. You don’t turn the corner into the alleyway yet, despite how you’re dying to go and see him again, but you pointlessly fix your jacket around your shoulders and pull at the fingers of your gloves until your watch reads 11:00.

Your hand grasps the corner and you practically push yourself into the alley, swallowing thickly. Why you were so nervous, you had no clue, but when you see him stand from his cardboard house, your stomach drops.

“Hey.” His voice is husky, gruff, but he looks as skittish as you. “Were you…?”

“Yeah.” You pull your hood down and step under the lamplight, and the two of you study each other like you’d been partnered up for a project neither of you wanted to do. “I saw your poster.”

The balled up piece of paper is revealed from your pocket and you hand it to him, his hands (covered with gloves, you notice— your money went to good use) gingerly taking it, making sure not to graze your fingers, as if your gloves would disintegrate upon any accidental touch.

“I just, uh, I wanted to say thank you, I guess.” The man rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Nobody’s ever taken the time to look after me like that since I… Got into this mess, I guess the words would be.”

You smile, remembering his poster. “Was what you said true, on your flyer?”

A beat passes before he understands, and his face goes as red as his jacket.

“Um. Yeah, it was.”

You’re embarrassed into silence, the only noise being the industrial buzz of the lamp above you.

“Thank you, sir,” you mumble after a minute, and he grins lopsidedly at you, which makes his entire face light up.

“Oh, and your stuff—“

“Keep it,” you blurt out, pushing the scarf back into his hands. “You need it more than I do.”

He looks down at the scarf like he’d just won the lottery. Holding it against his chest for a moment, he winds it around his neck, rubbing his hands together.

“I’m Stan, by the way.” He holds out a hand and you take it, introducing yourself and pretending you didn’t notice his pink cheeks that weren’t caused by the chill.

“Thanks again for the blanket and scarf— and the money,” he says, holding up his gloves. “I’ve got the rest saved for food and stuff.”

“You’re welcome, Stan.” He smiles at you, about to turn away, but you pull him into a tight hug, which he quickly reciprocates.

“If you need anything, put another sign up.” You pull away and put your hands on his shoulders, a large feat since he’s half a foot taller than you. “I’m in the grocery store pretty often, so I’ll be sure to look out for it.”

— — —

It’s the day before Christmas Eve, but Stan hadn’t left any notes for you in that time. He figures you were too busy, too wrapped up in your life to think about him. He wraps your blanket around his shoulders and scoots into his box, about to fall asleep, before a clerk from the grocery store clears his throat.

“There’s a poster left inside for you, so I brought it out, since you don’t really go inside,” he says awkwardly, handing Stan the piece of yellow paper and waving before he jumps in the passenger seat of his mom’s car and drives away.

Stan blinks down at the paper, but as he reads it, he starts grinning and probably won’t stop for a long time.

“LOST: COMPANION

TALL, BROWN HAIR, BROWN EYES, MAY BE ACCOMPANIED BY GRAY BLANKET AND RED SCARF.

NEEDS TO BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS DINNER, OFFERING REWARD OF LARGE MEAL IF FOUND.

PLEASE COME TO THIS ADDRESS IF YOU FIND HIM. IF YOU ARE HIM, THEN GET YOUR BUTT TO THIS ADDRESS OR I’LL FORCE FEED YOU MASHED POTATOES.“


End file.
